


For John-

by ohdrey89



Series: Deductive Deviations [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cancer, Domestic Fluff, England (Country), John Is So Done, John is a Bit Not Good, John is a Mess, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Men Crying, POV Sherlock Holmes, Retirement, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Slice of Life, Stream of Consciousness, Sussex, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, You Have Been Warned, You might cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:46:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5184260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohdrey89/pseuds/ohdrey89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was just scrolling through tumblr I swear. </p><p>Sappy retirement fluff. Sherlock is really just a sap inside. John's a grumpy old fart the older he gets. You know its true. Sussex and bees. </p><p>That's where this is all heading in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For John-

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cassiopeia221B](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiopeia221B/gifts), [Thewomanwhocounts (Lovelymissmolly)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovelymissmolly/gifts).



> Grabbed this: "Sherlock and John sometimes spend warm summer evenings out in the country, simply lying on the grass close next to each other, listening to the crickets chirping, wind blowing gently through trees and thunder quietly rumbling somewhere in the distance. Sherlock usually starts pointing out all the visible stars and constellations, names of which he learnt just so he could show John and John knows this. When Sherlock brings it up for the first time, he is at first smiling up at the dark sky but as Sherlock continues talking he turns to look at him, unable to dart his eyes away because Sherlock is just so breathtakingly gorgeous and John can’t never get enough of his ethereal beauty. After a couple of moments Sherlock notices that John is not even paying attention to what he’s saying and you can imagine him pouting because “John, you’re not even looking at the stars“ and then stuttering and blushing so hard because John, while still looking at him so full of love and pure adoration, straightforward utters “I am. I am looking at the brightest, most beautiful star in the whole entire universe.“ And then he rolls over Sherlock and they smile into a kiss, they kiss softly for a long time, not even realising that the sky has been quickly covered by heavy clouds. Not until it starts raining all of a sudden and they’re all soaking wet even before they manage to get up. Neither of them seems to mind, however, as they giggle loudly and hold hands on their way toward their cottage."
> 
> From cassiopeia221B on their tumblr (holmescope) and sort of ran with it. Inspiring works from other works is what it's all about. So I gift this to you for inspiring it. Also to thewomanwhocounts for making me a birthday present for my recent birthday by making an edit for my current story Fighting Gravity!!! :D THANK YOU!!!
> 
> Disclaimer: We didn't create it, we're not making money from it. But that's not going to stop the ideas from coming, so here we all are anyway. We might as well live.

The cottage Sherlock and John retire to will be the same cottage Sherlock buys when the family of the old couple that they were renting it from puts it up for sale. It’s their regular summer and sometimes Christmas vacation spot up until the sale and Sherlock never wants to lose it. He quotes them well beyond their quoted price, and watches confidently as their eyes bulge out. It's more than enough to keep them all comfortable as they bury their parents and makes up for his wanting them out as soon as possible. He doesn’t care about figures, he’s got plenty. And it’s all for John and he begs them as they move out not to touch a thing that they could do without. The only thing he touches is the addition of the beehives in the delightful English garden that leads from a stone path to the house. When he tells the family why he wants the place, they sign the papers happily, the women of the dead couple’s two boys spent an inordinate amount of time kissing his cheeks and hugging him. He struggles through it all and keeping it a secret from John because this is all _for John_.

It always is and has ever been _for John_. _F_ _or John_ , the ever present mantra in his head. Be good, _for John_.

Never touch cocaine again, _for John_. Quit smoking, _for John_. Live, _for John_.

Find the murderer, _for John_. Take down Moriarty, _for John_. Murder Magnussen, _for John_.

Show affection, _for John_.

When he decides to (finally) retire from being a detective, age and Lestrade passing away from cancer from his indulgent smoking habit have a lot to do with it. John decides they should move to the country (less people and publicity), he wonders where they will live. (They had been renting another place so Sherlock could start his bee hives before they moved into their cottage [it would always be _their_ cottage]. Bees did better work when they were undisturbed, though he maintained the hives as best as he could and Sherlock was anxious to see their progress. He fibbed that when the couple died it was no longer available for rent. Well, not entirely a lie, he just _omitted_ that was because he bought it.) Sherlock then says he knows the perfect place, forces a whingy John into a rented Range Rover and drives them around to the familiar places they used to visit in Sussex.

John seems to not have much of a vague idea what’s going on, thinking that Sherlock is just showing him a place to purchase that’s similar to their cottage and even says on the way to it, as they drive through the local village passed all of their favorite spots: “I wish we could live in our cottage from that summer, you remember?” Sherlock merely hums in agreement and John the grouchy bitter old bugger that he is mumbles an “of course you don’t. Not enough space in that Mind Palace of yours.”

Sherlock merely sends him a heated smile that causes the semi-retired doctor to scoff.

Of course he remembered. Though the rooms in his Mind Palace were getting dusty, disorganized and were darkening for a reason he didn’t want to think about; he kept the whole of John’s room locked safe in a secure part of his mind he never lost. Ever. This cottage was his most treasured place and laid inside this room with its memories playing inside it.

The more annoyed the doctor gets toward him the more excited Sherlock is to show him, and he’s waited years. The anticipation just might be the death of him, as his heart flutters precariously inside his dusty ribs. When they finally pull down the road leading to the cottage, John’s face drops. The cottage is the only one on this shabby little lane, and he would know this road like he knows the trails and curves of Sherlock’s scars. The dips and curves of Sherlock’s mouth, his body. The color of Sherlock’s irises when he’s woken up from his post-case crash, before he’s had a cup of tea.

When they finally reach the cottage, Sherlock turns off the car and turns to his husband shyly. He opens his palm to produce the key he’d always kept secreted away in their flat where John would never look and gives it to the astonished man with all of the excitement of a puppy.

“Surprise!” He smiles a small smile but is all proud that he pulled this off, relieved to finally tell his love the one thing he’s ever kept from the man since the fall. Until he notices the doctor is crying. Full tears, both of joy and miserable tears. Sherlock knows, he understands. After years, the only person he understands is this man beside him. John’s so happy that he did all this, and that they’ll get to live out their lives here, but he hates always being so cruel. He’s always so bitter towards his love, always grumpy. He hates himself for it. “Don’t cry, John.” Sherlock grumbles, bringing the doctor into his arms.

“I’m such a bastard.” He sobs into Sherlock’s shoulder. Nuzzling into the familiar smells of Sherlock's well-worn, tattered Belstaff. 

“So am I. But I like my grumpy old doctor just as he is.” Sherlock pulls away with a fond smile, eyes suspiciously wet despite himself. He’s soft in his age, softened _for John_. He always feels John’s tears keenly, but he always did.

“Hey watch the old part.” John warns and they share wet chuckles as John gets control of himself.

“Well?” Sherlock encourages once the man is calm. John is beaming, but the surprise isn't over. They go into the cottage after Sherlock finds where he hid his key. And when they go in, John is crying all over again when he sees the cottage is just as they remember it. Sherlock simply pushes John through this little haven of theirs, to the bedroom and they make love sweetly, not rushing, in no hurry like they used to be. They go slowly, simply reveling in their love for one another. It doesn't matter that they know each other like well worn maps that you can see through, whose roads are missing in edges and corners that have frayed apart. Like books whose bindings are tattered and spines are coming undone. They behave like they have all the time in the world, and they do. They are retired after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry Fighting Gravity is still happening but I was writing the next chapter and my fingers just sort of spilled this out as I was skulking around on tumblr to procrastinate. 
> 
> But you like it when I'm naughty like this, I know. ;)
> 
> Comments and Kudos are our currency of love, spread the wealth around.


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